When a young woman arrives from India to America, she must become accustomed to the new culture and figure out how she can keep her own identity.

I arrived in this strange new country with only my 2 year old daughter joined to my hip and a bottle of water that I had gotten on the plane. My stomach felt as if it had been turned upside down, my ear drums ached and my head dripped with sweat. 

I remember my husband telling me that the first task that I would have to do is get my suitcase with all of my belongings. After I had done that, I was to wait patiently until he arrived to pick me up.

I looked around to find someone to tell me where I could find my suitcase, but I could not tell who was an employee and who was not, everyone was dressed so professionally.

I spotted a stout young woman with short hair who looked like she could be of help. I tapped her on the shoulder. “Bag,” I said. At first she looked at me with confusion and then suddenly smiled.

“You must one of those folks from Air India,” said the woman. “Let me direct you to the bag pick up.” Then she motioned with her pointer finger for me to follow her.

I nodded slightly.

The woman took me to a machine where people’s luggage circled around and around until there was no more bags left. I searched for the one that had my last name on it, Desai, My uncle had it custom made for me so that I could easily recognize it. After finding my bag, I searched for a place to sit, just as my husband had told me to do. However, just as I was about to do so, I heard a young mans voice say;

“Ma’am can I help you with your things?” I turned around quickly, surprised to hear someone speak my native language, Gujarati. For the first time in 3 days, I understood a sentence.

“How did you know I spoke Gujarati?” I asked.

I could see the young mans brown skin turn red from embarrassment. “I saw your travels’ bag; it said ‘Desai’ on it. Isn’t that typically a Gujarati last name?”

I smiled at the boy. The young mans intuitiveness amused me and made me feel less afraid. It was comforting to know that I could communicate with someone until my husband arrived.

For some time, the boy and I talked. He told me that his name was Rajiv and he was from Bombay. He took a job as a flight concierge so that he could get money to pay for his college. I told him about my husband, and how he had gotten an engineering job in this country, and that I didn’t know much about my new home except that it’s very cold. Rajiv said he wanted to be a famous doctor one day, and someday work in this country, and live the ‘American Dream.’

Rajiv stayed with me until my husband arrived. I thanked him over and over again for befriending me for a couple of hours. He gave me a hug and told me to be safe. I told him that I didn’t know him that well, but I knew that he was going to make an excellent doctor and make his family very proud.

Finally, I got in the car and waved one last goodbye.

I was so sad to leave Rajiv. I wondered if I would ever meet someone as nice as him in this country.     

***

So far, I do not like it here; there is a cold, white, flaky substance all over the ground called “snow.” My grandmother used to tell me stories about this substance, that it covered the mountains in North India. She showed me pictures of this snow, how it glistened beautifully on the everglades, I promised myself that one day I would go see these mountains and take as many pictures as I could for my grandmother. However, now that I see this snow, all dirty, I am not sure if I want to go see the snow covered mountains anymore.

I have officially been in this new country, which people call the United States, for a year now. My daughter, Sonal, is 3 and I am 6 months pregnant.  I am beginning to start a family here, although I long to go back to my country. I long for the freedoms I had as a teenager in my city, Ahmedabad. I miss spending countless hours with my grandmother, celebrating holidays with my friends and family, feeling the war sun on my back. When I was pregnant with my daughter, all I drank was mango lassi’s. Now that I am pregnant again I crave the same thing, but I cannot find it anywhere.

I feel as if I don’t have an identity anymore.

     ***

Today I gained hope, because my husband introduced me to his new co-worker and his wife that just arrived here from India. I am elated to meet her, she has a one year old daughter and she is Gujarati just like me!

In just a few short hours of talking with her I feel as if I have known her a lifetime! She tells me about how she is homesick as well and how she is not too fond of the snow. She says that we should plan a big dinner for Diwali (The Festival of Lights) and decorate the house too.

My prayers have been answered; I finally have a companion.
    
     ***

Within a year, the Gujarati population has increased alot here in St. Paul. A small community is building slowly and I’m starting to feel my cultural identity come back. I become more hopeful that our small community will become bigger and someday our get-togethers will turn into large celebrations!

Even though I miss my native country everyday, I am beginning to enjoy my new life here in Minnesota. I am learning English and even got a job! I am studying to get my drivers license so I no longer have to take 3 buses to get to my job.

I am content with my new life, and I never thought I’d say it.